


Time and Teacups

by idonthaveyourappetite



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:03:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idonthaveyourappetite/pseuds/idonthaveyourappetite
Summary: “Damn your teacup,” Will hisses, fresh tears spilling from his eyes. “I wanted to leave with you. But I wasn’t ready. I was afraid.”Hannibal freezes at the admission, one hand still tangled in Will’s curls. [Every time I try to write something nice it turns into angst. Alternate Dolce conversation. Entirely dialogue-based, just for something different. And a birthday present for feyestwords. <3 ]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feyestwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyestwords/gifts).



“You forgive how God forgives.”

“And what about you? What about the way you forgave me?”  
“You accepted what happened. It was penance.”  
“I didn’t accept what you did to Abigail. You had no cause—"  
“The teacup shattered. I had to ensure there were no pieces left that might trick me into thinking it could ever again become whole. You killed our family, Will. When you deceived me.”  
“It was a half-deception.” Will speaks with effort through gritted teeth. “I never intended for them to take you. Why do you think I called?”  
“You were springing a trap. Why else?”  
“No, no, I wasn’t. No trap. Not then.” His voice is strained. Hannibal wipes the tears dispassionately but not unkindly from Will’s cheek.  
“I gave you every chance for absolution. You insisted upon staying the course. And so the teacup shattered.”  
“Damn your teacup,” Will hisses, fresh tears spilling from his eyes. “I wanted to leave with you. But I wasn’t ready. I was afraid.”  
Hannibal freezes at the admission, one hand still tangled in Will’s curls.   
“What you said to me…today. That we are conjoined? That your past and future is delineated by before and after me…?”  
Will groans in pain and frustration, the drug working through his system making it difficult to lift his head. His breathing is labored and his voice is very soft.  
“I meant it.”   
“And the knife? Your Old Testament justice?” Hannibal presses the blade back into Will's hand. His fingers curl around it before going slack. The knife clatters again to the floor. A pained noise escapes from Will's lips and it feels so natural, as organic as death and destruction, to soothe him.   
Will’s hair against the skin of his fingertips is soft and familiar. Hannibal remembers holding Mischa against his chest when she awoke from a nightmare, her silky brown curls under his hand. Broken china swirls together in his mind, threatening once again to become whole.   
Will’s eyes are closed. His head is tipped back and his lips are parted as if waiting for a kiss. Hannibal’s lips hover above his, tasting his breath, committing the feeling to memory.   
With some effort, Will finally answers him. He’s still crying, but his voice is steady when he whispers, “I meant that too.”   
The teacup shatters. Jack Crawford would be arriving shortly. Hannibal wipes a tear from his cheek and begins to prepare a lemon and thyme reduction.


End file.
